


And Wild for to Hold

by Devilc



Category: Blade Trinity
Genre: Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn Battle, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devilc/pseuds/Devilc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Like Blade, you know honor --" Drake's eyes flick to the bloodstained gauze covering the wound he inflicted on Hannibal in Dr. Vance's office, "and how to live by the sword."</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Wild for to Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: Written for Pr0n Battle 15. Blade Trinity is copyright its respective owners. This is for lust, not lucre.
> 
> Title and quote are from the sonnet "Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind."
> 
> Prompt was -- Drake/Hannibal King, bite, club, consort, desire, distraction, fight, final, hide, hunter, naked, please, return, run, skill, senses, smell, suck, sword, take

\----  
And graven with diamonds in letters plain,  
There is written her fair neck round about,  
" _Noli me tangere_ , for Caesar's I am,  
And wild for to hold, though I seem tame."  
-Thomas Wyatt-  
\----  
Hannibal King rises to his feet, visibly bristling, when Drake enters the holding cell. He's dangerous, this one -- those chains are not for show. The recent bloody cuts, bruises, and scrapes on his body were not gotten through playing it safe.

But neither were they given in a fitting manner for a man such as this. They were dealt in a manner venial and petty, not befitting gods amongst men. Drake realizes in this moment that he's done with the vampires of this age. Their ways are not his ways, their cause is not his.

He moves so swiftly and decisively that the smug expressions on the faces of Dannica, Asher, and Jarko don't have time to shift to terror or even surprise as he rips the hearts from their chests and crushes them to pulp before their bodies ash.

Their dust hasn't yet settled when Drake starts circling Hannibal, observing. There's chafing on his wrists from trying at the shackles. He must know that he cannot break these chains, but still, instinct, something at the core of his being, drives him on.

"Enjoying the view?" Hannibal asks after Drake finishes his second circuit. The words are light and teasing, yet, more than simple bravado. Hannibal knows what Drake can do to him, and still he fights with the only thing he has left, his words.

Drake locks eyes with him, holds his gaze for that crucial second before saying, "Yes, actually, I am. You are the embodiment of so many ideals of this age. My age too. Like Blade, you know honor --" Drake's eyes flick to the bloodstained gauze covering the wound he inflicted on Hannibal in Dr. Vance's office, "and how to live by the sword."

"Woo fucking hoo."

Drake steps in close and instantly those hands, a man's hands, a warrior's hands, fly up until the chains snap taught. He smiles inside at it, liking what he sees, but on the outside, he keeps his face impassive, as a ruler should. "Hannibal King," he says, putting the barest emphasis on the last name, a subtle dig at their situations, "where is your mark?" He resumes his slow, measured pace around this magnificent man, "I don't see another tattoo to cover it. Did you have it lasered off?"

"Yeah, along with your dick."

In the blink of an eye Drake seizes Hannibal's jaw, peels down his lip and sees nothing but red-pink flesh. "Not in that pert mouth of yours," he observes, voice still mild, "I'm surprised."

He steps away in the instant before Hannibal musters that last drop of spit and sends it in his direction. It stops well short.

Drake says nothing, just tilts his head this way and that and studies this man in the way he used to study his generals and viziers when he ruled the known world, waiting for them to crack, waiting for the tell that revealed that which they wished to keep hidden.

A twitch of the hands does it, and Drake has Hannibal's pants unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped, and down to his thighs. And there -- _there it is._

Slowly, almost languidly, Drake stands up, so close another finger's width will have them touching, and smiles as he whispers into Hannibal's ear, "I like the belt buckle. Nice touch."

Even with his head turned away in an almost militant effort to ignore him, ignore this, to give Drake as little satisfaction as possible, Hannibal still can't keep a leash on his impudent tongue. "Mess with the bull, get the horns," he mutters.

Drake reaches out, strokes his finger over the mark, causing Hannibal to gasp and jump back. "Don't think I don't understand what this means," he keeps his voice low, a purr, as he eases in that last fraction of an inch. "When I reigned, we had a different way of showing this, of telling the world exactly who, and _what_ you are. A pity it is that I can't keep the old ways, but --" he sighs dramatically, "rest assured, I'll come up with something new, something befitting you." He hears it, that slight hitch in the breath, the barest hint of a pant, he sees the flush start to build, a pinkening of that delicate skin not covered by a beard on that smooth swath of neck, just below the ear …. so close to his mouth. The thirst flares in him but Drake knows he mustn't. Not yet. Not too soon.

He leans back and looks down. Yes, as he expected, Hannibal's cock stirs. And, because he loves to watch that war between shame and desire in ones such as this, Drake says, "I can _smell_ , it on you too."

Hannibal's body tenses and Drake knows he's just screwed his eyes shut, as if that will keep the truth at bay. Drake snorts in amusement and darts his tongue out, a quick lap at that tender, oh so sensitive flesh, and the answering groan -- despite Hannibal's attempts to suppress it -- is music to his ears.

He takes Hannibal's sex into his hand, feels it engorging, hears the shuddery breaths that accompany the struggle inside the man -- mounting desire, and the attempt to control it.

"I kept …" Drake pauses, savoring the words, "the beautiful people like you, naked and chained to my throne, for me to take when I pleased, so that all could see --" Hannibal has come to full (and impressive) hardness in his hand, so Drake gives him the most teasing of strokes, delighting in the way he shudders like a leaf in the wind, "that fight within. The strength of your passions," he gives Hannibal a firm, root to tip stroke, to let him know what to expect from here on out, "the way that intensity, that loss of control frightens you, " Drake slides around, embracing Hannibal from behind, stroking his other hand across the firm muscles of Hannibal's chest, all the while deftly working that hot, hard cock, "but like a moth to the flame you can't stop yourself," his other hand ghosts up, gliding along the muscles of that desperately swallowing throat, until his fingers start scratching lightly at the crisp bristles of his beard; Hannibal's body trembles now, hips shaking with an effort not to pump, his breath becomes one long, low keening sound, and still Drake keeps speaking into his ear, "and you hold it back, like a dam straining to hold the flood," his fingers brush against the lips of that mischievous mouth, probing, "until it _bursts_." Hannibal's lips open and Drake's fingers slip in. Hannibal's mouth is as wet and hot as his furiously seeping cock, and Hannibal sucks at Drake's scissoring, pumping fingers with a desperation and need that thrills Drake to the core as Drake turns Hannibal's head towards him and whispers "And all of that wild, unbridled passion was reserved just for me, and me alone."

Hannibal's body shakes like a leaf as he gasps. A single tear spills down his cheek, and Drake laps it away, claiming it at the last moment before it gets lost in that thicket of beard.

He takes his fingers out of Hannibal's mouth, Hannibal's involuntary " _Oh yes_ ," feels like a prayer to Drake.

They both know what is coming, but Drake still says the words as he drives those spit-slick fingers into Hannibal's tight hole. "I'm going to milk you now, take your seed." The tears run unabated down Hannibal's face, but the near-mindless stream of "oh god, oh yes, oh please" does not cease as Drake relentlessly works him from both ends. When the moment's close, when he can feel Hannibal's cock harden and swell that last fraction, Drake's mouth clamps down on Hannibal's neck, sucking hard, careful not to break the skin though his teeth chafe against it, marking him, claiming him.

It's like taking a pin out of grenade and releasing the handle. Hannibal roars as he climaxes, flooding Drake's hand, dick still shooting-shooting-shooting in wild spurts, painting his chest and Drake's hand with semen as his knees give way and he collapses to the floor, gasping and shaking.

Drake studies the utterly spent man before him as he slowly licks the seed coating his hand, savoring it. It's not blood, but it contains something of the essence of the man.

Still dazed, eyes bleary, a sweat slick and flushed Hannibal climbs to his knees before him, and Drake holds a finger out, one last drop of Hannibal's come still clinging to it. Hannibal can't yet muster words, but his eyes speak volumes at the sight of it.

Drake chuckles and shakes his head. "This is not that childish thing you did, tasting yourself out of idle curiosity shortly after you first took yourself in hand." His eyes bore into Hannibal's as he continues, "I would have you know yourself as I know you."

Hannibal's eyes close and when he opens them again, Drake can see it in their depths, the rage, the pain, the hunger for more, but most of all acceptance of inevitability. His tongue slips out, swipes Drake's finger clean. He staggers to his feet and pulls his pants up, fastening them with hands that shake. "Blade's going to kill you, you know."

Drake smiles at him and darts in, kissing him, and Hannibal returns it, measure for measure, making it long and lush. When they break, Drake says, "Perhaps. But not today." He picks up the keys and undoes the shackles, taking Hannibal's hand in his.

"He's got a virus. He's going to give you vampire black death."

"Bah," Drake scoffs, opening the door and pulling Hannibal after him as he strides briskly down the hall, "there's no honor in this virus, no satisfaction in it. Blade may be a new vampire for a new age, but he lives by his code."

He looks over his shoulder and Hannibal flashes him a crooked smile before saying in a flat voice, "I'm warning you now, I'm a _terrible_ familiar."

Drake stops short, turns, takes Hannibal's face in in his hands, and locks his gaze. "I'm not making you my familiar. I'm making you my consort." A heartbeat later, he adds, "As soon as I find a suitable place with a large, sturdy bed."

Hannibal's eyes fly open and his mouth soundlessly opens and shuts several times.

Drake savors the moment. He suspects it's the only time he'll ever see his chosen at a loss for words.


End file.
